The Prey

He didn’t sleep in the room again.

The bed beside me remained cold and untouched reminding me that he didn’t belong to me—not even in the smallest of ways. I caught hints of him here and there—the faint scent of his cologne on the sheets, the echo of his footsteps in the hallway—but it was never enough. Not enough to fill the void he left behind.

The burns hurt. Gnawing sting that flared whenever I shifted.

But it wasn’t the pain in my legs that kept me awake.

It was the ceiling.

Why didn’t he stay?

The thought twisted inside me venomously. Was it disgust? Pity? Or was...